chorus loudly related at the same instant, so
that it was impossible to understand it—was
the sudden breaking loose of all the kangaroos,
who had made their escape, and were
now in full flight across the country.

As soon as this intelligence became
intelligible, Taönui, who was only too glad to break
up so unsatisfactory and maddening a
conference, formed a hunting party with several
chiefs, and set out in pursuit of his property.
He was reminded of Teöra by the queen, and
asked whether he intended she should remain
fastened up to be starved to death in Eat-man
House; but he turned a deaf ear to this, and
making no reply hurried away after his
kangaroos.

It should be understood that kangaroos,
not being indigenous to New Zealand, the
arrival of such a present as nine of those
creatures was an event of considerable
importance, as it was to be hoped that the breed
might be propagated, and thereby afford an
admirable addition to the very limited
livestock of the country. Valuable, however, as
these creatures were in the eyes of the king,
it was not the excitement of their escape that
rendered him unable to attend to the queen
when she reminded him of Teöra, but rather
that he wished her death to happen by a sort
of indirect process, since he was withheld from
killing her in an off-hand way, in consequence
of the influence of the flute and all its
witcheries.

So away the hunting-party sped, men and
dogs, after the nine kangaroos, who with their
long flying leaps were making their way across
the country,—now secreting themselves in
forests, now springing forward again in
terror at the sound of their approaching
pursuers,—till, finally, having turned their course
to the more open spaces of the sandy scrub,
over whose dry clumps and ridges, bushes and
shrubs, they could rapidly make way in a
direct line by leaps, while their pursuers were
obliged to make all sorts of windings and
semicircles, they completely distanced them,
and, for a time, were lost.

"GIVE WISELY!

AN ANECDOTE.

ONE evening, a short time since, the curate
of B, a small village in the north of France,
returned much fatigued to his humble dwelling.
He had been visiting a poor family who
were suffering from both want and sickness;
and the worthy old man, besides administering
the consolations of religion, had given
them a few small coins, saved by rigid self-
denial from his scanty income. He walked
homewards, leaning on his stick, and thinking,
with sorrow, how very small were the means
he possessed of doing good and relieving
misery.

As he entered the door, he heard an
unwonted clamour of tongues, taking the form
of a by no means harmonious duet,—an
unknown male voice growling forth a hoarse
bass, which was completely overscreeched
by a remarkably high and thin treble, easily
recognised by the placid curate as proceeding
from the well practised throat of his
housekeeper, the shrewish Perpetua of a gentle Don
Abbondio.

"A pretty business this, Monsieur! " cried
the dame, when her master appeared, as with
flashing eyes, and left arm a-kimbo, she pointed
with the other to a surly looking man dressed
in a blouse, who stood in the hall, holding
a very small box in his hand. " This fellow,"
she continued, "is a messenger from the
diligence, and he wants to get fifteen francs
as the price of the carriage of that little box
directed to you, which I 'm sure, no matter
what it contains, can't be worth half the
money."

"Peace, Nanette," said her master; and
taking the box from the man, who, at his
approach, civilly doffed his hat, he examined
the direction.

It was extremely heavy, and bore the stamp
of San Francisco, in California, together with
his own address. The curate paid the fifteen
francs, which left him possessed of but a few
sous, and dismissed the messenger.

He then opened the box, and displayed to
the astonished eyes of Nanette an ingot of
virgin gold, and a slip of paper, on which
were written the following words:—

   "To Monsieur the Curate of B.
         "A slight token of eternal gratitude, in
           remembrance of August 28th, 1848.
                                      "CHARLES F——  .
                   "Formerly serjeant-major in the —th regiment;
                            now a gold-digger in California."

On the 28th of August, 1848, the curate
was, as on the evening in question, returning
from visiting his poor and sick parishioners.
Not far from his cottage he saw a young
soldier with a haggard countenance and wild
bloodshot eyes, hastening towards the bank
of a deep and rapid river, which ran through
the fields. The venerable priest stopped him
and spoke to him kindly.

At first the young man would not answer,
and tried to break away from his questioner;
but the curate fearing that he meditated
suicide, would not be repulsed, and at length,
with much difficulty, succeeded in leading
him to his house. After some time, softened
by the tender kindness of his host, the soldier
confessed that he had spent in gambling a
sum of money which had been entrusted to
him as sergeant-major of his company. This
avowal was made in words broken by sobs,
and the culprit repeated several times, " My
poor mother! my poor mother! if she only
knew——"

The curate waited until the soldier had
become more calm, and then addressed him in
words of reproof and counsel, such as a tender
father might bestow on an erring son. He
finished by giving him a bag containing one